The Adventure of the Underground Crypt
by LuckyLadybug
Summary: Autor is falsely accused of bringing serious injury to Fakir. With Fakir unconscious and unable to tell what happened, Autor and Ahiru must solve the mystery themselves and unearth the secrets of the spirits that haunt the tunnels under the library.
1. The Fall

**Princess Tutu**

**The Adventure of the Underground Crypt**

**By Lucky_Ladybug**

**Notes: The characters are not mine and the story is. To write this I'm using a Writer's Choice prompt from Paranormal25—_Catacombs. _During a rewatch of episode #5, I had to wonder what on earth a crypt and ossuary were doing under the library. And hence, the plot of this mystery was sparked. The other twist here was loosely inspired by a movie I overheard being watched. This is post-series, Ahiru is human, and she and Autor have become close friends.**

**Chapter One**

Even without Drosselmeyer, Kinkan Town still boasted many strange and unusual things. The oak tree's roots were, of course, still under the museum lawn. Stories had come to life, turning against their creators and wreaking complete havoc at every turn. Paranormal beings had been seen around town now and then, some frequenting certain locales. One of the students at the prestigious, private Kinkan Academy had been killed in a carriage accident and later had been brought back to life due to a legend in the cemetery concerning the revival of one worthy soul every hundred years.

That student had devoted himself to research, both before and after his tragic demise. Now that he was again among the living, he had turned his attention to studying the bizarre events that had made the town internationally known as a hotspot of the supernatural. Only Domino City, far away from Kinkan, seemed to have a reputation that rivaled the German town.

One of Kinkan's mysteries involved the complex subterranean tunnel system that seemed to run largely throughout the entire town's boundaries. No one knew how the tunnels had got there or what they had been used for, though some suspected that they had been similar to the mines now colloquially and famously called the catacombs of Paris.

Some of the pathways were lesser known than others, particularly ones under some private estates. Others, while known about, were rarely traveled. Perhaps that was a good thing; one never knew what beings might have laid claim to the tunnels during their long years of inactivity. And when the dead desired possession of something without disturbance, they would do whatever it took to keep their solitude.

xxxx

Autor sighed to himself as he tapped the end of his quill on the sheet of paper. Even after having been here for hours, he had accomplished nothing of particular value. Absolutely no one knew anything about the secret passageways underneath the academy's library. None of the books he had been poring over mentioned even one sentence about them. He had brought his paper to take notes, but it was still blank.

_I know how Fakir must have felt when he discovered all the torn-up books when he was researching,_ he thought to himself.

It frustrated him that a place he frequented so often held secrets that even he could not discover. He knew everything else about the library, including what kinds of books could be found in each of the stone back rooms. But the tunnels continued to taunt him as the one area he could not identify.

At least he had to be grateful that giggling students looking for a cheap scare did not often try to go down there. Some had searched for the room that held the trapdoor, but either he or Batson or a librarian had intervened before they had found it. The academy's staff did not want any of the students going down there. It was too easy to become lost, they said. Anyway, it could be falling apart and someone would end up plummeting to his or her death.

Autor was not afraid. He had explored some of the other tunnels before and knew how to be cautious. But he had not as yet been able to conduct a thorough exploration of the maze under the library. All he knew was that one of the many pathways led into a crypt, and its presence was more perplexing than the tunnels themselves.

He stood in annoyance, gathering his materials and heading for the back rooms. It was a slow day at the library, but nevertheless he did not want to be caught climbing into the trapdoor. There was no harm in merely going to examine it, however.

Whatever its secrets were, they had started to spread to the room that held it. It felt unnaturally cold in that particular room, moreso than in any of the other back rooms. Autor had already investigated the room for a draft and found nothing. And it was doubtful that it was the chill from the tunnels coming up through the concealed door; he had been in the room before and had not felt anything odd. For there to be such a cold feeling now, was it an indication of paranormal activity? And if so, why was the spirit choosing to manifest itself after all this time?

He walked down the halls, keeping his footsteps as quiet as possible. It was this oddity more than anything else that prompted his extra interest in the passageways. He did not take kindly to the idea of his beloved library unwillingly harboring phantoms.

But he blinked in surprise when he pushed the correct room's door open and found it already had a living occupant.

"Hmph. I didn't think you were into research anymore," he said with a smirk as he stepped inside.

Fakir grunted. He was standing under the window, a thick book in hand. "Only if I need to be," he said.

Autor set the paper and ink in an empty spot on the shelf. "So what prompts your interest today?" he asked.

Fakir shut the book. "I had a feeling Ahiru's friends might try to bring her here," he said. "I know you know about the rumors going around the school."

"That the room is cold and must be haunted by a ghost?" Autor said, clearly unimpressed by the tale. Not that long ago, it had been _his_ ghost supposedly haunting the library. Even though actually it had not been.

Autor, however, kept those thoughts to himself. It was still a sore spot for Fakir.

Fakir nodded. "I know what's really in this room," he said, "and I don't want those girls finding the trapdoor. Ahiru already knows it's here, but her friends don't." And one wrong step could be a disaster; beyond the opening was a drop to a series of stairs. Hitting either the landing or falling down the steps would likely cause serious injury to whoever was unfortunate enough to discover it. And he could imagine Ahiru accidentally taking a tumble if one of her curious friends stumbled on the door.

"Strange you should mention it," Autor said. "I was actually here to investigate it myself." He gave Fakir a wicked smirk. "You're welcome to come, if you want."

"No thanks." Fakir crossed his arms. "I won't cover for you if you get discovered," he said.

"What makes you think I'd ask you to?" Autor said, stepping closer to the stone tile that he knew held the entrance belowground. "I don't need your help, Fakir."

"I'm sure you don't want me telling the librarian I saw you go down there if she asks," Fakir said. He pushed himself away from the wall, walking over to the other boy.

"I'd rather you didn't," Autor admitted. He smirked again. "But you might get in trouble too, for not stopping me. So it could be in your best interest as well to keep quiet."

"What's so important down there anyway?" Fakir said, annoyance tingeing his voice.

Autor sobered. "That's what I would like to know," he said. "Something strange has been happening of late. And now that it's spreading into the library itself, I'm determined to find out what it is. The staff won't do anything; they think it's children's fairy tales. But you and I know better, don't we, Fakir? We know that fairy tales can come true."

Fakir let out a big sigh. "I guess if there really is something wrong, it will involve me and probably Ahiru sooner or later," he said. "Just like everything else that goes wrong in this town."

Autor pushed up his glasses. "Does that mean you want to investigate after all?" he said.

"No," Fakir said. "It means that since it will probably happen eventually, I might as well get it over with right now." He stepped nearer to the tile, but then stiffened. "What the . . ."

Autor followed his gaze. Gray wisps of smoke were seeping through the hidden door's edges, curling around their legs. He froze, chilled to the bone from the eerie touch.

"What dark force is this?" he gasped.

"You don't have any idea?" Fakir shot back.

"Unfortunately no!" Autor said.

In the next moment the trapdoor flipped open, spinning wildly before settling in a yawning position. Autor could only stare in shocked horror as Fakir was dragged through the hole. There was no other word for it; though he could see nothing but the smoke, something had hold of Fakir's ankle. The other boy cried out as he fell, clawing at thin air. Autor grabbed for him, but not in time. Fakir hit the stone below with a horrifying series of thumps and crashes. Then abruptly all was silent.

"Fakir!" Autor yelled, staring through the opening. Fakir was sprawled lifeless at the bottom of the steep staircase. The mysterious gray mist uncurled from his ankle, evaporating into the air. The same substance dissipated from Autor's legs, leaving him swaying for balance. He reached out, catching the nearby shelf to keep from taking a spill himself.

And suddenly it seemed that the whole student body was upon the scene.

"What are you doing?" exclaimed one outraged girl as she came to the doorway. "What's that hole in the floor? And what was that horrible, bone-chilling scream?"

Two others ran in, horrified as they peered through the trapdoor. "It's the wonderful Fakir!" they said in unison. "He's laying in a dreadful place!"

The rest of the voices burst out at once.

"Did he fall?"

"Is he hurt?"

"He . . . he couldn't be _dead . . ._"

One girl looked faint at the mere suggestion. Two others clasped their hands in despair and a third began to cry.

Autor glared at them all in annoyance. What an inconvenient time for Fakir's fanclub to appear.

"I'm going to find out," he said, preparing to start down the stairs.

To his astonishment, one of the girls grabbed his arm. "Don't you dare!" she said. "You pushed him, didn't you?"

A hushed silence fell over the group, as though the thought had not occurred to any of them. But then they burst out again, certain that they'd found the answer.

"He did! He pushed the wonderful Fakir!"

"I've seen them together. I know they don't like each other; they don't get along."

"Maybe he's jealous because he loves Ahiru too!"

In spite of himself Autor was stunned. Even though he had long been both ignored and tormented, he had never been accused of harming another person. He pulled his arm away, giving the girl a black look.

"I most certainly did not push him," he said. He did not even consider the other remarks worthy of a response. Definitely not now, at any rate.

With that he climbed into the opening and lowered himself down, dropping to his feet in the dank passageway. He went down the stairs immediately, sickened as he drew closer to Fakir. The other boy was crumpled on his side at the end, his right hand limply hanging on the last stair.

_Could his spill have possibly been worse?_ Autor thought to himself as he knelt next to his friend.

Above him the girls were still exclaiming in alarm and horror.

"The wonderful Fakir wouldn't have fallen!" said one. "And that music student was standing there looking so incriminating. He did it!"

"He certainly did!" said a second.

"I'm going to get the librarian right now," a third declared. "The wonderful Fakir needs help."

"I hope his attacker is suspended for a month!"

"Suspended? He should be expelled! He should be sent to one of those delinquent camps!"

Autor gritted his teeth, trying to block out their voices. "Fakir," he said, gripping the other boy's shoulder. "Fakir, can you hear me?"

There was no response. Autor stiffened, his blood going cold. Fakir wouldn't . . . he couldn't have been killed in the fall . . . could he?

Of course, it was possible. Autor bent down, desperate for some sign of life. But his shoulders slumped in relief. Fakir was breathing.

He reached out, carefully running his hands over Fakir's neck and back as he searched for broken bones. Nothing felt out of place, so hopefully Fakir would be able to be moved.

Above him, an authoritative voice boomed over the students'. "What happened here?" the head librarian asked.

"The wonderful Fakir was pushed!" one girl wailed. "That music student did it, the one who's always here."

"Autor? Nonsense." The woman walked to the edge of the trapdoor and looked down. "Autor, what happened?" she called. "Why is this door open?"

Autor looked up, grateful that not everyone believed he was a villain. The librarian liked him, though at times she was annoyed when she felt he overstepped his bounds as a student and tried to behave as one of the full-time staff.

"I didn't hurt him," he said, racking his mind for words of explanation that were mostly true. "We . . . we thought we saw smoke through the door and we went to see what was wrong. But then he fell." He would certainly not be believed if he told in detail what had actually happened. And when he got over the shock, outrage and indignation would be his most prominent emotions. He would have to come back and investigate on his own and learn why the phantom had pulled Fakir down to a possible death.

"Of course he did," the librarian said, even as the girls cried out in protest. "How is he?"

"He's unconscious," Autor said. "I don't think anything's broken, but he must have struck his head."

"I'll send for help right away," she assured him. "Meanwhile, you stay with him, Autor. Treat him for shock."

Autor was already shrugging off his jacket. "I'll do what I can," he said. He was too nervous to try moving Fakir himself in order to slip the blazer underneath him; what if he was wrong and the damage would be made more severe if he did? His hands shook.

"Why is he going to stay with Fakir?" a girl burst out. "He'll make sure Fakir is hurt worse! He'll probably kill . . ."

"Enough!" the woman boomed. "I don't want to hear any more of these unfounded accusations. Autor has never tried to hurt anyone. You should be ashamed of yourselves." And she walked past in determination.

Autor looked down at Fakir as he laid the blazer over him. _Maybe it is my fault indirectly,_ he thought bitterly. _You wouldn't have fallen if not for me._

_But I didn't know,_ he protested. _I would never intentionally harm you. You know that, don't you, Fakir?_

He flinched as the girls continued to whisper loudly among themselves about his certain guilt. In spite of himself, his confidence had been shaken. He felt betrayed.

_Don't you, Fakir?_

He rested a hand against the other boy's forehead as he tried to ascertain whether Fakir had a fever. The answers he longed for were not forthcoming. Fakir looked pained, but there was no indication of whether he accused Autor for his fall or not. Autor did not really think Fakir would, yet after this slap in the face part of him doubted.

But no, Fakir would likely blame himself and say he had not been careful enough. Still, who could have predicted an attack like this?

_Don't think you've discouraged me, whoever you are,_ he vowed in silence. _I'll find out who you are and why you did this. I don't take kindly to phantoms who harm the people I care about._

Again he surveyed Fakir's lifeless form. The other boy looked pale. How badly was he hurt? He had not responded to Autor's attempts to call to him or to revive him. He really should have regained consciousness right away if nothing serious was wrong.

"Whatever you do, Fakir, for Heaven's sake don't die," Autor muttered under his breath.

His eyes flickered with fear.

xxxx

Ahiru groaned, slumping over the _barre_ in exhaustion. It had been a long day as it was, and then her mind had wandered enough that she had been given the assignment of staying after class to practice the day's techniques. By now she felt ready to go collapse in bed for a nice nap.

"Ahiru!"

She gave a start at her friends' voices. "What is it?" she mumbled. Both Lilie and Piké sounded agitated, but at the moment she was too worn-out to care. Knowing Lilie, she was just distressed over some tragedy she had wanted to see not coming to pass. But then again, for Piké to be worried too, maybe there really was something wrong.

"Oh Ahiru, you're wanted in the front office!" Lilie exclaimed. "That music student was called in too!"

Ahiru shot upright in shock. "What? Why?" she gasped.

"There was an incident!" Lilie said. "They're saying he pushed the wonderful Fakir through a trapdoor!"

The color drained from Ahiru's face. "He wouldn't!" she said. "There has to be a mistake or something! And what happened to Fakir? Is he hurt bad?" This was too much to process all at once.

"He's unconscious!" Lilie said. "He's being examined by the school nurse right now, and they've called his father and sent for a doctor!"

"Autor is saying Fakir fell, but it sounds suspicious to some of the students," Piké frowned. "No one actually saw what happened, but the wonderful Fakir is so agile it's hard to believe he would have made such a mistake."

Ahiru's mind was spinning. Fakir was hurt and Autor was being blamed for it? She ran past the other girls, tearing for the door. She would not even stop to change out of her leotard and tights right now; she was too worried and horrified.

"Oh yes, you should hurry right now, Ahiru!" Lilie called after her. "Your music student may get suspended for this. Maybe even worse, if Fakir doesn't survive! Who would have thought he had it in him to be a delinquent?"

Piké frowned at her. "You're not helping," she said.

"No way!" Lilie said with wide eyes.

Ahiru barely heard either of them.

xxxx

Autor was sitting stiffly in a chair when Ahiru opened the door of the front office. Though he was trying to appear composed, he seemed slightly pale as he looked over and then stood to greet her.

"Autor, what happened?" Ahiru cried.

"Fakir fell," Autor said. "They're not sure yet how serious it is." There was a slight catch to his voice.

The headmaster cleared his throat. "Mr. Autor was telling me his side of the story," he said. "Some of the students are saying he pushed Mr. Fakir, but there is no proof of this."

Ahiru glared at him. "Of course Autor didn't push Fakir!" she said.

"I'm inclined to agree, Miss Ahiru," said the headmaster. "Mr. Autor has always been an honest, good student and has never caused any trouble. Though this story about seeing smoke coming from under the trapdoor seems odd, I must admit." He quirked an eyebrow, looking back to Autor.

Ahiru blinked in confusion, looking to him as well. Autor looked slightly frustrated, but then recovered.

"There have been other reports of strange things in that room," he said. "When we saw the smoke, we weren't sure if it was a prank out of hand. So we thought we should investigate."

"And when you lifted the trapdoor, Fakir fell," the headmaster said.

"Yes," Autor said. "It was a misstep. Anyone could have an accident."

"True, though it still seems odd for an accident." The headmaster clasped his hands on the desk. "The other possibility is that someone in the tunnel reached and pulled Fakir in."

Autor started. "I didn't see anyone," he said. "And I doubt anyone could reach high enough to take hold of him. There's a drop before you gain the stairs."

"That is a point," said the headmaster. "However, none of the girls say they saw smoke when they arrived on the scene."

"It had dissipated by then," Autor said. "I don't understand it myself."

Ahiru tilted her head. Somehow she had the feeling Autor was not telling everything. But why would he hold back? Was there something in the rest of the story that he did not think the headmaster should hear?

_I hope he'll tell me when we're alone,_ she thought. _He'd better not be holding back because of me!_

Still, she doubted that was true. Autor did not always tell her things concerning himself, but he had always been very forthright about anything that involved Fakir.

Aloud she said, "Um, excuse me, but why was I called in?"

The headmaster looked to her. "Both of these boys are your friends, aren't they, Miss Ahiru?" he said.

"Well, yeah," Ahiru said, shifting anxiously.

"I thought you should know about Mr. Fakir's misfortune," the headmaster said. "And I wanted to get your opinion on Mr. Autor's story."

From Autor's steely expression, he had known that was the plan. What the headmaster did not say out loud was that he had hoped Ahiru's initial reaction to the news would help him more fully determine Autor's innocence in the matter.

"Autor would never push Fakir!" Ahiru snapped. "I already said that."

"Arguments happen," the headmaster said. "I remember an incident from some time back, when Mr. Fakir was said to have pushed another student out the window. . . ."

"That didn't happen, either," Ahiru exclaimed. "It was a big misunderstanding! Mytho was . . ." But she trailed off, looking down. She did not know how to explain what had happened then. And it was probably better not to get into it, anyway.

The man sighed. "Very well," he said. "There's certainly not enough evidence to hold Mr. Autor. You're both free to go."

Autor gave a curt nod and looked to Ahiru. "We should find out if they know anything about Fakir's condition," he said.

Ahiru nodded in return. "Come on!" she said, hurrying to the door and pulling it open.

Autor walked out with her, merely pushing up his glasses in an indifferent manner as the eavesdropping girls on either side of the door stared at them.

"Isn't Ahiru best friends with the wonderful Fakir?" came the whispers from the crowd. "Why is she still with Autor?"

"Maybe she's so sweet that she believed his story about the wonderful Fakir falling."

"Or what if it was a plot and they were both in on it?"

"A scandal! A true scandal!"

Normally Autor was a calm person, but his patience was being pushed and stretched. Hearing them attempting to implicate Ahiru in what had not even been a case of mal-intent in the first place was the final nail in the coffin.

"Be quiet!" he snapped.

The students recoiled, silencing themselves in surprise. But a moment later they were whispering again.

"He doesn't like what we're saying about him."

"Maybe it's what we said about Ahiru he doesn't like."

"There really is a scandal!"

Ahiru clenched her fists. They were just looking for something sensational, she told herself as she and Autor walked past. They did not mean any real harm. But it still stung, to be accused of planning something so horrible to happen to someone she cared about so dearly.

"They're vultures," Autor muttered, steering Ahiru past the oogling eyes as quickly as possible.

Ahiru stared at the floor, a heartfelt prayer for Fakir's well-being running through her mind.

"By the way," Autor whispered in her ear when they were around the corner and safely away from prying students, "Fakir was pulled through the trapdoor."

Ahiru's eyes went wide. "What?" she gasped.

"I couldn't tell the headmaster. And you can't tell anyone, either. What pulled him in was a spirit."

Ahiru turned to stare at him. "There really are . . ." He shushed her and she went red, lowering her voice. "Ghosts in the library?" she whispered.

"There are now," Autor said. "And I won't rest until I learn why."


	2. Into the Crypt

**Notes: Thanks to Nanenna for inspiring some of Autor's musings here! And there's a couple of necessary references to more modern things, so I feel I must again remind that I subscribe to the controversial idea that the series is present-day. And I am highly amused that I spent quite a while deliberating on what kind of retro-looking landline telephone to give Autor.**

**Chapter Two**

Other students were already crowding around the school's infirmary when Autor and Ahiru arrived. Autor frowned, taking hold of Ahiru's wrist as he weaved around them to the door. Ahiru fought to keep pace with him, stumbling more than once. As he stopped at the door, she crashed into him with a groan. He did not acknowledge her, too intent on attempting to hear the conversation inside.

"Charon's already here," he noted. "It sounds like the doctor is talking to him." He turned the knob, opening the door just enough for him and Ahiru to slip inside. As the other students immediately clamored closer, he firmly shut the door.

Both Charon and the physician looked up, tensing at the interruption. Charon's gaze upon Autor was unreadable, but he looked sad as he focused on Ahiru. That did not encourage either of the worried teens.

"Charon! Is Fakir hurt bad? Will he be okay?" Ahiru exclaimed. Peering around them both, she caught sight of Fakir lying on the nearest bed. He looked like he was only sleeping, though he was unfortunately not in such an innocuous state.

"Fakir!" she cried, running over to the bedside. She longed for him to tell her something, anything, even to not yell so loud. But he did not acknowledge her at all. Her shoulders slumped as she sank into the chair by the bed. "Fakir," she said again, this time in a heartbroken whisper.

Autor hung back, only briefly gazing at Fakir before turning back to the adults. Perhaps he still felt guilty, blaming himself for Fakir's fall. Or perhaps he just felt too uncomfortable seeing Fakir so motionless.

Charon sighed, looking to the doctor. The older man removed his stethoscope, studying Ahiru and Autor with a confused frown. "Who are you two?" he asked.

"I'm Ahiru!" said Ahiru, before Autor could speak. "And this is Autor. We're Fakir's friends."

"Autor?" The physician's expression changed to understanding. "You're the boy who was with Fakir when he . . . fell," he finished awkwardly.

"Yes," Autor said.

Charon nodded. "They're both trustworthy, Doctor," he said.

The physician hesitated, but then nodded. "With such a terrible fall came a nasty bump on his head," he said. "His pupils surprisingly aren't dilated, but that isn't the only sign of a concussion. I feel he likely has a very bad one.

"However, the main concerns I have are swelling or bleeding on the brain," he continued, "and unfortunately I can't accurately check much on those here. He needs to be taken to the hospital and examined with more modern equipment. In any case, it concerns me that he hasn't regained consciousness yet."

Ahiru was giving the doctor a blank stare. Though she thought she understood most of what was being said, inside she was screaming for it not to be true. She hesitated, then reached and laid a hand on Fakir's.

"Is he still not responding to anything?" Autor asked.

"That's right." The doctor sighed. "Can you tell me anything more about his fall, young man? I know that he was lying on his left side after tumbling down those stairs."

"What more do you want me to tell?" Autor returned. In spite of himself, his voice was taut and he was growing slightly tense. From the doctor's hesitation, he had to wonder whether the man was convinced of Autor's innocence in the matter.

"Now, there's no need for that tone," the physician said. "No one's accusing you of anything."

"I didn't actually see him fall," Autor said. "I heard him hitting the stairs, but it happened so fast. When I was able to look, he had already reached the bottom."

"Were you near him when he fell?" the doctor queried.

"Yes," Autor said. "I was standing next to him."

"And you didn't see him fall down the stairs?" Charon frowned in confusion.

"No," Autor said. "I only heard him falling. I tried to grab for him when he tumbled, but I couldn't catch him." He frowned. "It was dark through the opening, but after he struck the bottom there was a faint light shining from somewhere that illuminated him."

"That's weird!" Ahiru exclaimed. _It's like . . . like someone wanted Autor to see him. Were the ghosts being even meaner? Or were they giving him a warning?_

"It is strange," Charon frowned in agreement. He crossed to the bed, lifting Fakir into his arms with care. "I'm taking Fakir to the hospital now. Is there another way out of this room?" He frowned towards the door, where the muffled voices of the chattering students could still be heard. He did not want to pass by them.

"There's an outside entrance," Autor volunteered. "Over here." He pulled the blue curtain divider aside, revealing both another bed and a door on the far right.

"Good," Charon said. He walked towards it with purpose, the physician hurrying alongside.

Ahiru bit her lip. The sight of Fakir lying so lifeless and limp in Charon's arms was breaking her heart. "Um . . . can I come?" she asked.

Charon hesitated. The doctor glanced over his shoulder. "The tests could take a while," he said. "You could be just sitting and waiting for hours."

"But I'll never be able to focus on the rest of the classes today!" Ahiru exclaimed.

"You should go," Autor said, pushing up his glasses. From his tone of voice, he did not intend to go himself.

Ahiru looked back to him, her eyes widening in realization. "Autor, you . . ."

"The two of you can talk this over," Charon said. "We're going on ahead." His voice was strained with his worry for his adopted son. He hastened outside as the physician opened the door for them.

As the door shut a moment later, leaving the two students in solitude, Ahiru faced her friend in concern. "Autor, what are you going to do?" she demanded. "You can't go down in that tunnel! It's too dangerous! And at this time of day, someone will probably see you!"

"I'm not going to go down there now," Autor said.

Ahiru rocked back, blinking in surprise. "Then why . . ."

"I'm going to look over all of my current research on these tunnels," Autor said. "There's an entire network of them that appear to snake all over the town." He lowered his voice. "When it's night, I'll come back and go through the trapdoor."

Ahiru gawked. "How will you even get in?" she gasped.

"I know how to pick locks." Autor looked uncomfortable to be revealing this information.

"You wouldn't!" Ahiru stared at him. "Autor, you'll be suspended for sure if they catch you!"

"I can't let that stop me." Autor looked at her, his expression unwavering. "I have to know what's down there and why the ghosts were willing to hurt Fakir and implicate me to keep it secret. They're not staying in their domain; they've been coming up into the library itself, so this could happen again."

Ahiru's eyes widened in horror. "But . . ."

"Your place is with Fakir," Autor said. "Go on to the hospital. I'll call and find out about his condition before I come back here tonight."

Ahiru's thoughts spun around in her head. "Okay," she said, quietly and subdued. "But Autor, at least you should go with someone!" she exclaimed then.

"And who would I go with?" Autor returned. "I don't trust anyone around here. From the sound of it, they don't trust me, either." Though he did not intend it, a bit of bitterness had slipped into his voice.

Ahiru shifted. "Yeah," she said.

"I'll be fine," Autor said. "Don't worry about me."

Ahiru started. "And how can I not worry, after what happened to Fakir?" she cried, her hands flying to her hips. "The minute you try to go down there, you might get pulled in just like he was!"

Autor flinched. That was true. And he was certainly not helping Ahiru's worries.

"Autor, please, if you have to go, then _I'll_ go with you," Ahiru said.

"It's too dangerous," Autor objected, staring at her.

Ahiru glowered at him. "And that's exactly why I won't let you go alone!" she said. "I went with Fakir all over those tunnels under the church!"

"Yes, but at that time you could also become Princess Tutu any time you wanted," Autor said.

"I'm going," Ahiru said, her chin set with a stubborn air.

Autor sighed, half-turning away from her. "Fakir needs you more," he said.

Ahiru looked down, but not before Autor caught sight of the pain and worry in her eyes. "He has to be okay, though," she said softly. "I guess I'm hoping that they can wake him up at the hospital and they'll just say he needs rest or something."

Autor turned back to her. "They can't always wake people up," he said. "If the unconscious person is unresponsive, there's nothing to do but wait and see if he or she will come out of it."

Ahiru clenched her fists. "But if he keeps not waking up, that means it's really bad, doesn't it?" She was staring at the floor, her voice a mumble. It pained Autor to hear her agony. And it hurt worse when he felt at least partially responsible for Fakir's fall.

"It can," he admitted. "Sometimes, however, it just takes a while to wake up."

Ahiru slowly looked back up at him. "Really?" she said.

"Yes." Autor nodded towards the door. "Go on now." But then he frowned. "On second thought, you might want to change clothes first."

Ahiru started as she looked down at her leotard and tights. "Oh . . . right." She went a bit red as she hurried to the door and opened it. But then she leaped back with a gasp of shock as the eavesdropping students all fell in on the floor.

Autor _hmphed_ as he walked past them. "Disgraceful," was his only comment.

Ahiru swallowed hard, trailing after him.

xxxx

The next hours passed painfully slow for everyone.

Autor was right; Ahiru was in the waiting room with Charon for what seemed ages. She could only sit for a few minutes before she was up again, pacing the room or peering in at the fish in the tank. Time moved agonizingly slow. Charon attempted to examine some of the magazines left for those waiting, but he could not concentrate. He mostly leaned forward, clasping his hands and staring at nothing.

Autor looked over a couple of books at the school, but he soon checked them out and left altogether. He was tense, feeling the eyes of the students on him and hearing their whispers. The ones that did not fully believe he was guilty spent their time gossiping about whether he was, in addition to their usual pondering on if he was mortal.

The more time that had gone by since his restoration, the more the students had relaxed. Most seemed to have finally accepted that his return to the world of the living did not mean he was in limbo and among the undead. A few, however, persisted in the rumors. They were childish, just looking for something sensational.

And that was what they were doing now as well. Many who no longer believed that Autor was a dangerous paranormal being were latching onto the idea that he had pushed Fakir, wanting some reason to put him down. It was annoying, but there was not anything he could do about it.

He bided his time and did his research as the rest of the afternoon melted into evening. While he sat in the living room, reading a book by the fire, he glanced now and then at the clock. He was keeping time in his mind, determining how many minutes he thought had passed, and then checking his estimations against the clock. More often than not, he was very close, if not exact.

It was when he felt it had been long enough to attempt calling the hospital that his own telephone rang. Raising an eyebrow, he set down the tome and reached for the device.

"Hello?" he said as he lifted the receiver.

"Autor?"

He recognized Ahiru's voice. "What is it?" he asked.

"Well . . . the doctors did all kinds of tests and stuff," Ahiru said. "And the good news is that it doesn't look like there's any brain-swelling or bleeding or anything like that! But . . ." Her voice quavered. "Fakir doesn't wake up. It's really weird; there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with him at all besides the bump."

"I see." Autor frowned. "What are they going to do?"

"Charon wanted to bring him home and watch him himself," Ahiru said. "The doctors probably wouldn't have let him, but there was some big accident just outside town and everything's really crazy and crowded at the hospital. They said other people needed the hospital beds more than Fakir, so they let Charon bring him back. But they gave him a lot of strict rules about checking Fakir every thirty minutes and stuff."

"So you're calling from home?" Autor could imagine Ahiru standing on tiptoe to use the wall telephone he remembered Charon had installed in the kitchen.

"Yeah." Ahiru shifted. "Are you still going out?"

"Yes." Autor pushed up his glasses. "Are you still intending to come?"

"Uh huh." He could hear her shifting position again. "I want to be with Fakir, but I don't want you to go off alone, either. And I want to know why the ghosts hurt him." A bit of fire came into her voice at the last statement. "He didn't do anything wrong!"

"What are you going to tell Charon?" Autor frowned. "He won't like the idea any more than I do."

Ahiru gave a nervous laugh. "Actually, I haven't figured that out yet," she said.

Autor sighed in exasperation. "I'm going to leave within an hour or two," he said, glancing at the clock. "Once you've determined your excuse, come here within one hour. Otherwise, I'll meet you at the academy."

"Okay. Um, should I bring anything? Like a flashlight or a lantern or something?"

"Flashlights would be more reliable and easier to carry," Autor said. "I'll have mine, but go ahead and bring one if you have it." He hesitated. "Also, I don't know how long this will take. You might want to bring emergency rations . . . food," he added quickly.

Ahiru gasped. "It could take so long we'll have to _eat_ down there?" she said.

"It's just a possibility," Autor said. "We should be prepared."

"Then I'm going to be!" Ahiru said in determination. "I'll see you later, Autor. Bye!" She hung up before Autor had any chance to protest.

The boy leaned back with a sigh, replacing the receiver of the rotary-style telephone. Ahiru's words concerned him, specifically about Fakir not awakening. In spite of what he had told Ahiru about it sometimes just taking a long time for someone to come to, he could not help but wonder if there was another possibility. Could the ghosts have done something to keep Fakir unconscious? If so, he could potentially remain like that until Autor could find a way to undo it.

And if Ahiru ended up injured in the process, Fakir would never forgive him.

Of course, Autor would never forgive himself, either.

xxxx

Ahiru arrived as Autor was literally walking out the door. He raised an eyebrow as he saw her approach.

"I was starting to wonder if Charon had discerned what was going on," he said.

She shook her head. "I said I was worried about you too, because of how the students were being so mean," she said. "So I said I was going to come see you." She looked down. "Fakir's not any different."

Autor sighed, debating within himself as they turned and walked down the darkened street. Should he tell her his suspicions about the ghosts? Or should he keep that to himself unless they found something more concrete to confirm it?

"What do the doctors think?" he said at last.

"They really thought he should've woke up," Ahiru said softly. "So Charon's hoping it won't take long. I mean, of course I'm hoping that too. . . ." Her gaze wandered to the streetlamps burning up and down the stone road.

"Are you wondering if you should have stayed with him?" Autor said.

Ahiru froze. "Um, well, I . . ." She bit her lip.

"You volunteered for this, you know," Autor said. "Under the circumstances, you have every right to not go through with it."

Ahiru sighed, her shoulders sagging. "I feel . . . kind of torn, I guess," she said. "I wish I could be in two places at the same time."

"Unfortunately, that science hasn't been developed." Autor pushed up his glasses, staying alert for the rare late-night sounds of a horse or a carriage. They certainly would not want to be seen out at this time, but completely aside from that, Autor still carried a fear of the animals that had trampled him to death and the vehicle they had pulled. He avoided them when he could.

"I . . . I told Fakir that I'd be back as soon as I could. Do you wish I wasn't coming?" Ahiru asked.

"It would be better for you if you weren't," Autor said.

Ahiru glowered at the street. "Maybe I am just selfish," she said, shuffling her feet now. "I don't want to sit there waiting for Fakir to wake up while I'm worrying about you too. Maybe I just wanted to be able to know what at least one of my best friends is doing and to feel like I could maybe do something to help."

She slowed to a stop. "I don't know what's going on with Fakir at all! We couldn't see him for the longest time, and then when they finally let us, he was so still. . . . It was scary and wrong. Fakir's not supposed to be like that!" She looked up at Autor, who had stopped as well. "I guess . . . I'm really scared you're going to end up like that too."

"What do you think Fakir would tell you?" Autor said. He felt awkward with this conversation. He was not really the comforting sort; he saw things in shades of logic and numbers. When he spoke, it was often to be blunt—though his words were needed.

Ahiru frowned. "He'd probably say you could take care of yourself," she said.

Autor started walking again. Ahiru hurried to catch up.

"And I'd say 'You did a really great job of taking care of yourself!' And then we'd start arguing or something."

Autor stared ahead as the town unfolded before them. Yes, that was likely what would happen.

"And nothing would actually get resolved," he mused.

"Yeah, probably." Ahiru looked away. "But I kind of wish I could argue with him now. That sounds weird, doesn't it?"

"No," Autor said.

She blinked. "It doesn't?"

"For most people, yes, it would sound strange," Autor said. "For you and Fakir, it doesn't."

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment or not," Ahiru mumbled.

She swallowed hard as the academy loomed sooner than she had thought it would. "Are you going to pick the lock on the gate too?" she said. "It's not left unlocked like the gates at the dorms are."

Autor frowned, studying the scene. "There shouldn't be anyone on the grounds this late," he said. "It would probably be alright."

"Probably?" Ahiru squeaked.

"Just stand in front of me in case someone walks past." Autor went over to the padlock, making certain that there were no visible lights on the other side of the gate before using his tools to try to open it.

Ahiru took several steps forward, turned and did the same thing the other direction, and began to repeat the actions indefinitely. Someone would undoubtedly notice and wonder what she was doing, but the thought of holding completely still made her nervous. And it was hard to say which would be the most incriminating.

She jumped a mile at the audible click. Autor straightened, undoing the chain and opening one side of the gate just enough for them to slip through. "Since there's water surrounding the grounds on all sides, we can't hope to climb the wall when we're done," he frowned. "And I can't leave this unlocked; we could be found out."

Ahiru gaped at him. "Then what are we going to do?" she demanded.

He walked through the opening, Ahiru scurrying after him. Shutting the gate again, he reached through the bars and reaffixed the chain and the padlock. "I'll just have to pick it a second time," he noted.

He faded into the shadow of the main building while Ahiru scrambled to keep pace. Normally the structure was welcoming, but tonight it could only look imposing and ominous. Ahiru shuddered as she looked up at the spires. If she let her imagination run too wild, they would look like spikes reaching out for the intruding students. She scrambled closer to Autor, even while scolding herself for being so silly.

Still, what were they going to find in the library?

Once they were past the edifice Autor veered to the left, heading for the library. It was, thankfully, in darkness, as were the rest of the buildings. But all of the shadows stretched eerily on the walkways and the grass, only making Ahiru think all the more of countless invisible eyes watching their actions. Wasn't there a creepy expression about the walls having eyes? Or the night itself?

They stopped, and again she waited while Autor picked a lock. He chose the library's back door rather than the front. "It's closer to where we need to go," he said. "And we're less likely to be seen."

"How do you know how to do this, anyway?" Ahiru asked, feeling uneasy as Autor pulled the door open and stepped inside. She followed, ducking under his arm before he drew the door shut and locked it again from the inside.

Immediately they were plunged into blackness, the small beams from their flashlights all that stood between them and the complete unknown. But the glows illuminated strange and eerie shadows, making Ahiru cringe. The thought of the malevolent ghosts lurking somewhere in one of the rooms did not help one bit.

Autor smirked. "Occasionally during my research, I couldn't access information I needed another way," he said in reply to her question.

"Autor!" Ahiru exclaimed.

"Actually, that isn't the truth." Autor pushed up his glasses. He really did not want to admit that he had once locked himself out of his house by accident and had been forced to pick the lock to get back inside. It had been one of his most frustrating experiences, especially since it had been winter at the time.

Ahiru frowned. "You were making a joke?"

"I guess you could call it that," Autor said, sounding both matter-of-fact and bored.

"It wasn't a very good one," Ahiru muttered.

Autor did not reply, instead proceeding down the hall. When he came to the door he wanted, he reached for the handle. But as soon as he touched it he stiffened in shock. "It's cold," he said.

Ahiru touched the next door over. "This one is too," she quavered.

Autor laid his hand against the other metal. "Not like the one we want," he said.

Ahiru slumped forward. "I was afraid of that," she said.

Autor pushed the first door open, unleashing a frosty batch of air. Ahiru gasped, steeling herself against it as her skirt and braid blew wildly in the breeze. Only when it passed did she dare to look into the room.

It was not so much that it looked different, she determined. It was that it felt different. Something was very wrong. She could not help but give a weak whimper as she moved closer to Autor.

The bookish student stepped into the room, acknowledging the noticeable change in temperature. When Ahiru came in beside him, she clearly felt it as well. Her eyes were wide and alarmed.

"I demand an explanation!" Autor said, casting his gaze around the room. "Why are you leaving your domain and coming into ours? Why did you hurt Fakir?"

The deep cackle nearly made Ahiru's braid stand on end. Near the window, the trapdoor creaked open. Flickering light was visible beyond the entrance.

Autor glowered at it. "They want us to go down," he said. "More than likely they have a trap prepared."

Ahiru gripped his arm. "Let's go back, Autor!" she pleaded. "It's not worth it."

"I don't want these ghosts infesting the library, especially after what they've done," Autor retorted. Then, hesitating again, he made his decision. "And it's also possible that the ghosts are preventing Fakir from waking up," he said.

Ahiru went pale. "Really?"

"I don't think we should ignore the possibility," Autor said.

"Then we have to go down there!" Ahiru cried. "No matter what!"

"My thoughts exactly," Autor said. "Though even if it's true, I'm not sure how we'll reverse it." He narrowed his eyes. "Ghosts keeping people unconscious wasn't covered in my research."

"If it's true, we'll find out!" Ahiru declared. Her knees were slightly knocking as she approached the entrance to the unknown, but her visage was filled with resolve. If going into the realm of the ghosts was the only way to save Fakir, then nothing would keep her away.

Autor came up beside her, tense as he peered through the hole. There was no gray smoke now. Instead the flames of the torches flickered and burned. The ghosts had lit them.

"I'm going down first," he told her. Though he doubted anything would happen to either of them yet, he would feel better if he went ahead of Ahiru. Before she could protest, he crouched on the floor and gripped the edge of the opening. For the second time that day, he lowered himself to the landing of the stairs.

Ahiru dropped down next to him a split-second later. For a moment she stood stiff, then breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness, I didn't fall," she said.

As if on cue, icy hands pressed against her back. She shrieked, pitching forward and flailing wildly.

Autor caught hold of her waist, dragging her away from the stairs. "Ahiru! Please be more careful!" he cried in both exasperation and worry. He was _not_ going to stand by and watch someone else be hurt because of the ghosts.

"It wasn't my fault!" Ahiru wailed. "Something really creepy touched me!"

Autor frowned, looking to the empty space behind them. "Alright," he said at last. "We'll go down the stairs together. Stay right with me!"

Ahiru gave a weak nod.

Autor kept a firm grasp on Ahiru's wrist as they headed down the stone steps. Something was definitely watching them. And as they stepped onto the solid ground, a dark chill passed through both of their bodies.

"This is where Fakir fell," Autor informed Ahiru. "There's something evil here."

"Well, of course there is!" Ahiru cried, angry in spite of her fear. "Only something really mean and cruel would push poor Fakir!"

Her words echoed eerily up and down the ominous hall. The torches burned more brightly, then dimmed.

Autor glowered at them. "Now we have to choose a path," he said. It was not as easy as it sounded; dark doorways to paths were all around them. It was hard not to be fascinated at the architecture despite the grim situation.

Ahiru shuddered. "Do they all lead to dead people and stuff?" she asked.

"I wouldn't know," Autor said. "But maybe we should start with the one we know does."

"Really?" Ahiru squeaked in horror.

"Which path did you take when you were down here?" Autor queried.

Ahiru hesitated, then pointed to one of the right-hand tunnels. "That one . . . I think," she said.

Autor headed in that direction, pulling her with him. It certainly looked forbidding; it was the only path that did not have lit torches in front of it. And as they drew closer, some of the shelves bearing bones and skulls came into view.

"You know, I really kind of wonder what that poor lamp was doing down here," Ahiru said, cringing at the ossuaries as they advanced down the passageway. "Who'd put a lamp in a place like this?"

"Maybe it was just a stage setting created by Drosselmeyer," Autor said. "But apparently he wasn't responsible for these tunnels in the first place." From the looks of things, they were just as old as the rest of the underground paths in town. Autor had already been certain that was the case. Now there was visual evidence.

"I don't get why all these people were buried under the library, either," Ahiru whimpered as they entered the first crypt.

"They were likely here long before there was a library," Autor said, frowning as he looked to the nearest coffin. The nameplate was worn and unreadable.

Ahiru gasped in horror, staring across the corridor at another one. "That one's open!" she cried.

Autor raised an eyebrow as he turned to look. She was right; the lid was halfway ajar.

"I don't see anything coming out of it," he said as he walked over to it. "Anyway, the lid would need to be pushed further along for anything to actually escape. . . . What's this?"

Ahiru's mouth dropped open as Autor reached into the casket. Her eyes only got wider when he extracted a handful of brightly-colored objects. "Jewels?" she said.

He nodded, holding up a cut bluish-green gem for inspection. "There's an entire sack of them right there in the corner," he said.

"M-Maybe they belonged to the dead person?" Ahiru quavered. "You'd better put them back, Autor!"

Autor replaced the jewels in the bag, but then lifted up the entire parcel. "Something isn't right," he said. "If it belonged here, this cloth bag should have disintegrated as soon as it was exposed to the air. Instead, it's perfectly intact."

Ahiru bit her lip. "What does that mean?"

"It means it was put here recently," Autor said. "Someone is storing gems in an underground crypt."


	3. Unexpected Surprises

**Notes: I haven't forgotten this fic! This chapter has a lot of deep conversation, because what better place to explore deep topics than while wandering through old and creepy tunnels?**

**Chapter Three**

Ahiru could only stare blankly at Autor after he made his announcement. To her innocent mind, it did not make the least bit of sense.

"Why would someone store gems down here?" she said at last. "Did they think they could keep them safe from crooks?"

Autor sighed in exasperation. "In all likelihood, it could _be_ crooks that put them here," he replied. "If these tunnels connect with the network running throughout the city, this could be an ideal spot for thieves to hide their ill-gotten gain." He frowned. "And it could explain at least some of the ghosts' outrage with intruders," he added.

Ahiru froze in horror. "So there might be mean people down here along with mean ghosts?" she squeaked.

Autor nodded. "We'll have to be careful," he said. "I'll leave these here for now, until we know more what's going on." He placed the bag back in the sarcophagus and stepped back. "Let's keep going."

Ahiru swallowed hard. "But hey, Autor?" she said, her voice still quavering. "What will we do if we meet up with some of the crooks?"

Autor paused and looked to her. "We'll have to convince them that we're lost down here," he said. "And we'll have to act as though we don't suspect anything about them."

He was starting to regret bringing Ahiru with him. Of all things, he had not even considered that criminals might have housed up under the library, even though he had been sure that they likely roamed the catacombs from time to time.

"I hope they'll believe us," Ahiru mumbled.

Autor pushed up his glasses and smirked at her. "_Hmph._ You've fought things far more frightening than a few common thieves," he said. "And yet you're afraid of them?"

Ahiru glowered at him. "But like you said, I can't be Princess Tutu whenever I want anymore," she said.

"I'm sure you'll think of something," Autor said. "If all else fails, you can get angry and your fiery temper just might frighten _them._" With that he walked past, still smirking.

Ahiru huffed as she stormed after him.

xxxx

It was quiet in the tunnels for the next while; the teens' shoes were the only sound. Now and then it would sound like something somewhere ahead and they would pause, listening intently and scarcely daring to breathe. Upon hearing nothing further, they would resume their journey.

Ahiru stayed closer to Autor, growing more nervous at each chamber they passed. So far there were no more jewels in any of the coffins, but there were plenty of other things to give them pause.

"It feels like all the skulls are looking at us," she moaned.

"That's ridiculous," Autor retorted. "Of course the skulls couldn't be looking at us. However, the spirits of their owners—for lack of a better term—could be."

"That doesn't make me feel better!" Ahiru wailed.

"It wasn't meant to," Autor said.

Ahiru was beginning to regret this trip as well. So far there was nothing that could help them revive Fakir, if the ghosts really were responsible for keeping him unconscious. All they had to show for their efforts was a small bag of gems that they had left in the first crypt.

She cast a sideways glance at Autor. He did not seem bothered by any of this. Not that she thought he would show it, of course. That was Autor—and Fakir too, really. They were so alike in some ways. Both were aloof, teased her, and were blunt. And both of them also confided in and opened up to her, something that they did for very few others.

But they were very different, too. As a general rule, Fakir did not like to do research. Autor reveled in it. Fakir was gruff and short-tempered. Autor came across as arrogant and smooth. Fakir was perfectly content riding a horse. Autor would be just fine with never seeing one again—though after his experiences, who could blame him?

Ahiru bit her lip. "Autor?"

He glanced briefly at her from where he was studying a small niche stacked with skulls. "What is it?"

Ahiru shifted. "Um, I guess this will sound weird, but . . . is it hard, being alive again?"

Autor blinked. Now he turned to her, giving her his full attention. "What do you mean?"

Ahiru flushed. "Well, I just mean, since you were dead and everything, and I know how some of the students have been acting even before this happened today, and you said you were happy up there, and . . ." She rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet, looking at the stone floor. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be asking."

Autor adjusted his glasses as he looked back to the shelf. For a moment he was silent, gathering his thoughts. "It's not that hard," he said. "My memories of the afterlife have mostly faded. I remember, but it's like a far-off dream. And in a lot of ways, it feels like nothing has really changed. However . . ." Again he hesitated.

"There are always reminders. The way the other students treat me is only one of them. More importantly, it's . . ." He turned to face her again. "The way you and Fakir look at me."

Ahiru's eyes went wide. "Huh? What do you mean, Autor? Do we look at you weird or something?"

He shook his head. "You look at me as if, even after all this time, you can't believe I'm really here. As if I'm a spectre, a shadow of the afterlife that will disappear when you're not looking." His voice lowered. "Sometimes even I find it hard to believe that I'm not."

He cleared his throat, not wanting to dwell on that topic. "But as for my happiness—it's true that I was happy there. I saw my family, whom I've been without for years. Still . . . something was always missing." He drove his hands into his pockets as he resumed his pace, walking past the skulls' niches.

Ahiru hurried to catch up with him. "Missing?" she repeated.

Autor nodded, uncomfortable. When Ahiru caught a glimpse of his face, he looked red.

"That's just the way it is, if there are people important to you on two different planes," he said. "No matter which plane you're on, there will be a void.

"For a while I was caught up in the beauty and the peace of that world." He looked to her as she came alongside. "It shames me that I was so selfish.

"I hadn't gone to that afterlife the time I stabbed myself to stop my Story. That world was . . ." He frowned. "It was fascinating, but dark and twisted—like Drosselmeyer's mind. And my own, at that time.

"I didn't forget the pain I was causing you then. But in Heaven, I . . ." He pushed up his glasses as they slipped. "I believed there wasn't any way to return from there. I had tried and failed before being taken to that world. And I decided that you and Fakir, as well as I, would just have to accept that I was dead.

"Fakir was angry because he hadn't realized I was a spirit when he gave me a ride home that night. And after I was in Heaven, I regretted I hadn't used that time to say a proper goodbye, to him or to you."

Ahiru looked down, blinking back tears. It was still deeply bothering Autor, no matter how much he snarked and smirked and pretended nothing was wrong. And she had to admit, she was still hurting too. Losing a dear friend was not something she could get over easily. It was not something she could bear to see happen again, to Autor or Fakir or anyone else she loved.

"You were in shock. And you thought there wasn't anything you could do," she said softly. "I don't know, if I was dead and in a really amazing place like Heaven, I might forget about other things too."

"I didn't actually forget," Autor said. "I thought about it. But after I began to explore, I didn't think about it as much. I wanted to stay there.

"When I was allowed to come back for the funeral service, and occasionally at other intervals, I became stricken with guilt. You and Fakir weren't recovering. Even when Fakir tried to put his anger and hurt behind him and move on, it was still festering inside him. And some of that was my fault, because of how I behaved that night."

He looked up again. "I already missed you both and wanted to be allowed to speak to you again. And then I realized that I still wanted to live more than anything. I had partially tried to make myself believe otherwise since I thought there was no way I could come back."

"Oh Autor. . . ." Ahiru looked up at him. His expression was unreadable, but his tone of voice had betrayed him.

"I guess it's true about how we look at you," she said. "It still seems like it can't be true that you're back, not when you were _gone_ for so long. Sometimes when I see you, I have to really stop and think about how you're not a ghost and that you'd better not go away."

She stared at the stone floor. "Maybe that's also why I came with you," she said, "because I'm just so _scared_ of waking up some morning and hearing that they found you lying somewhere and that you're . . ." She trailed off with a sniffle.

Autor was more uncomfortable than ever now. He had never really known how to react when people talked about him being hurt, especially if they were worried about him. Other than his parents, Ahiru had been the first who had expressed worry for him whom he knew was sincere.

"I can't promise I won't die," he said at last. "All I can do is everything in my power to make sure it doesn't happen prematurely." He smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. "I have every intention of living a long and full life."

"You'd better!" Ahiru exclaimed. "And I'll help try to make sure you will!"

"And I'm sure you'll do exactly that."

Autor glanced at the cross on the nearest coffin as they came to the next chamber. "It's ironic," he mused.

Ahiru blinked. "Huh? What is?" she asked.

"I was raised Christian, but as I got older I found little use for religion or spiritual matters," Autor remarked. "Cold, hard logic and provable facts were what interested me. After the end of Drosselmeyer's Story, and particularly after my return to sanity, for some reason I started dabbling in religious topics again. And then I found myself dead and in the next life."

Of course, he was glossing over many things. Thoughts swirled in his mind of what he kept silent. His anger and hurt towards God when first his father and then his mother had fallen ill and died. His later thoughts on whether Drosselmeyer could have kept the town sealed in such a tight bubble that divine help had not penetrated. His fear of Hell and his belief that he would surely be sent there after his descent into madness. That fear had been acquiesced as he had slowly healed—or at least, he had thought so. But when he had arrived in Heaven after his death, he had been surprised, even stunned.

His parents, albeit saddened that he had died and certain that it could not be his time, had welcomed him with open arms. Neither had mentioned anything about his bout with insanity, until finally, overcome with guilt, he had brought it up himself. They had reassured him that they had not ceased to love him even then and that they were proud of him for all he had done to try to make it right.

As he remained lost in thought he wandered down the corridor, glancing to each tomb. Nothing seemed out of place. To be sure, he tried each lid. None would budge.

Ahiru followed him in, biting her lip. "I'm still learning about religions and stuff," she said with hesitance as he worked. "I knew some, but then I wanted to know a lot more after you . . ." She trailed off, looking away.

"Um, Autor, can I ask you something?" she ventured, deciding she wanted to change the subject. Talking about his death hurt too much.

"That seems to be what you want to do tonight," Autor said. "What is it now?"

Ahiru stared at the floor, quickly moving away from any and all bones and skulls that had rolled out of the nearby niches. "How did you get so interested in solving mysteries?" she wondered.

Autor was again surprised. "It started when I began to develop an interest in logic, actually," he said. "There were things I noticed in town that did not seem right to me. My parents never wanted me to meddle, fearing for my safety, but after their deaths I vowed to learn the truth."

Ahiru was surprised too. "I thought everything seemed normal to everyone," she said. "But I guess now when I think about it, I was pretty weirded out by Neko-Sensei at first. . . ."

Autor nodded. "I would see things that seemed strange," he said, "and then later wonder why I had thought it. This happened more than once, finally leading me to believe that the hushed rumors of the town being controlled by a Story could be true. My parents used to talk about it when they thought I was asleep."

Ahiru rubbed the back of her neck. "You know, I didn't even know what it's like to have parents," she realized. "Way back as far as I can remember, I was by myself. But then Charon took me in after I became a girl again, and I guess he's like a father to me."

"He treats you like his daughter," Autor agreed. "Though I doubt that you and Fakir are like siblings." He regarded her in amusement as she went red.

As they left the crypt and stepped onto a darkened path, Autor switched on his flashlight. Or he _tried_ to; the light would not come on. Frowning, he smacked it in vain with his other hand. "The batteries must be dead," he said in annoyance.

Ahiru pulled out her own flashlight. But she stiffened in horror when it did not turn on, either. "I know this one was okay!" she cried. "I tried it out when I was walking to your house!"

Autor's expression hardened. "I see," he said. "There's something down this corridor that the ghosts don't want us to discover."

"Then let's not!" Ahiru retorted.

"We have to," Autor shot back. "Anyway, it could be something to do with Fakir."

Ahiru stiffened, knowing he was right. "But if we can't even see . . . !" she worried.

"We'll use extra caution," Autor said. "We'll keep our hands out to feel for anything awry and be prepared for the floor to give out under us."

"I don't want to have to be prepared for that!" Ahiru wailed. But even as she spoke she steeled herself. She was down here because of Autor and Fakir. She would endure any hardships for that price. If there was something along this path that they needed to find, then they would have to find it, no matter what.

Autor placed the flashlight in his pocket before giving her a smirk. "Well, now I know what defeats Princess Tutu," he said. "I must say, I didn't think it would be ghosts."

Ahiru fumed. "Princess Tutu took on ghosts more than once and won!" she said. "And she wasn't scared at all!"

"Then come," Autor said, stepping closer to the middle of the hallway.

Swallowing hard, Ahiru went closer to Autor. _But I'm not Princess Tutu now,_ she thought to herself. _And I really am scared! But I have to do this, for Fakir._

Their footsteps echoed eerily up and down the hall as they advanced. The mood hanging over the passageway was dark and foreboding; the ghosts were letting them know in no uncertain terms that they were not welcome. But in resolution they pressed on.

"The students were spreading those awful rumors about your ghost haunting the library," Ahiru said at last. "They said it would always feel creepy like this if someone dropped a book or talked too loud."

Autor smirked again. "And if I really had been haunting the library, it probably would have been true," he said. "Though I doubt my presence would feel as hateful as this."

"It's not funny," Ahiru frowned. "Fakir was so upset about it. I was too."

Autor sobered. "You're right, it isn't funny," he said. "I apologize." The wounds were still too fresh. And knowing what had actually been responsible for the ghostlike activity disturbed and concerned Autor more than if it had been a real ghost.

"I still wish we knew why that happened," Ahiru said softly. "Especially since you told us it wasn't you."

For a moment Autor did not answer. Ahiru frowned, turning to look at him. "You also told us you didn't know what it was," she said.

"Yes, I did," Autor said. "It wasn't an untruth." _Because even though I know it was Fakir's doing, I don't actually know what element of his power brought it into being,_ he thought to himself. _I've never heard of a Story-Spinner who was able to subconsciously will something into happening, without even writing._ And surely if the explanation was something bizarre such as Fakir writing in his sleep, there would be some evidence of it. On the other hand, he could have destroyed it before awakening and forgetting all about it.

Ahiru frowned. "I hope you'd tell us if you found out," she said.

"Do you trust me?" he returned.

She stopped walking, staring at him. Her eyes had started to adjust to the darkness, allowing her to see the boy's vague outline. But his face was a mystery.

"Of course I trust you," she said. "But when Fakir thinks something's too upsetting, he doesn't always tell it."

"And you think I'm like Fakir?"

Ahiru looked down. "Well . . . I just kind of wonder," she said. "I'm used to it from Fakir, and you still don't talk about a lot of things, so . . ."

Autor sighed. "If I've withheld anything, I've had a good reason," he said. "Will you trust me on that?"

"You _are_ not saying something you know, then." Ahiru started walking again, not sure how she felt about that. Frustrated, certainly, but mostly weary resignation. She was not a little kid! She could handle it, whatever it was.

"Ahiru." Now Autor was walking swiftly behind her. "There isn't some conspiracy against you. If there's something I haven't said, I haven't told anyone. That includes Fakir."

Ahiru ground to a halt. "Really?" she said after a moment.

"Yes." Now Autor had come alongside her.

Ahiru thought on that. "It must be really bad," she said.

Autor was silent. "Hypothetically, maybe I haven't found a good time to tell either of you," he said.

Ahiru frowned. "What's 'hypothetically'?" she asked, drawing out the unfamiliar word as she tried to pronounce it correctly.

"An unproven theory," Autor said. "Your theory is that I haven't told something I know. I'm saying that if that's true, the reason could be that there hasn't been a good time to talk about it."

Again Ahiru was silent, digesting this information. "Okay," she said finally. "So, hypothetically, if there is something, do you think there will be a time to tell us?"

"Hypothetically, yes," Autor returned.

Ahiru smiled in the darkness. "That's good enough for me," she said. "I trust you, Autor."

"Good," Autor replied.

It was at that moment when Ahiru unexpectedly walked into something. With a yelp she flailed and pitched forward, crashing on something hard and jagged.

Autor gave a stunned start. "What happened?" he demanded.

"Oww," Ahiru moaned in response. "It feels like stairs."

Autor walked over, staying alert and careful so as not to take a tumble himself. "Are you alright?" he asked. Feeling with his hands, he touched the stubborn piece of hair on top of Ahiru's head that would never stay down. He moved further to the right.

"Yeah," Ahiru said, sitting up on one of the steps. "I wonder where these go."

Autor placed his foot on the bottom stair. "This is interesting," he mused. "They don't feel like stone. They're made of wood!" He bent down, touching one of the steps with his hand. "They aren't rotting either."

Ahiru blinked, tilting her head to the side. "What does that mean?" she wondered.

"They're remarkably well-preserved," Autor said. "Or they were built recently. If I could just get my flashlight to work. . . ." Again he took it out of his pocket. But as he flipped the switch, nothing happened. In exasperation he replaced it. "We'll just have to climb up," he determined.

Ahiru got to her feet. Part of her was reluctant, but the other part was determined to investigate. Swallowing her fears, and trying not to think of ghosts pushing them down the stairs, she clenched her fists. "Okay!" she said. "Come on!" With that she started up almost before Autor realized what was going on.

"Wait a minute!" he exclaimed as he followed her. "Be more careful. You might suddenly . . ."

He trailed off as the sound of something bumping something else echoed through the corridor. He winced when this was succeeded by Ahiru groaning in pain.

"Now what happened?" he frowned, relieved that at least she had not fallen backwards down the stairs.

"I hit my head on something," Ahiru moaned. "Watch out; it's right here."

Autor raised his hands above his head as he advanced up the stairs. Ahiru was right; the ceiling was suddenly greeting him. He felt around, his nimble fingers soon coming across thin and precise slits in the workings.

"It's a trapdoor," he realized.

Ahiru perked up. "Can we get through?"

He widened the perimeters of his search. "Maybe," he said. "There's a latch here. I'll see if I can pull it loose."

Ahiru waited tensely, listening to the sounds of metal scraping on wood. "Is it coming?" she ventured.

"It's stubborn," Autor frowned. He wiggled the knob again, then fought to draw it back. At last it slid over with a resounding _snap._ Using both hands, he pushed upward on the door. It moved, creaking on poorly oiled hinges. As Autor used further force, it slammed onto the floor above.

Ahiru cringed. "I hope nobody heard that," she mumbled.

Autor concurred. "I'll pull myself through the hole and see where we are," he said. "If I deem it safe, you should come up as well. Otherwise, I'll come back down."

Without waiting for a reply he grasped the edge of the opening and began to hoist his slender body upward. This sort of activity was better suited to someone like Fakir, he could not help thinking as his legs flailed for something to brace himself with. But though he did not care for physical exertion, he was stronger than he looked. He forced himself up the rest of the way, then knelt on the floor to regain his bearings.

"This looks familiar," he said aloud, studying the darkened room and the shapes on the walls. Taking out his flashlight, he switched it on. He gasped in surprise.

"What is it?" Ahiru called up. She stood on tiptoe, trying to see as he beamed the light around the room.

"It's one of the rooms the students in the sculpture division use," Autor said. "We're in that building."

"No way!" Ahiru gasped in shock. Reaching up, she tried to grab hold of the opening above her. In relief she caught hold of it and proceeded to try to pull herself up as Autor had done.

He set the flashlight on the floor, watching her progress. "Can you make it?" he queried.

"I think so," Ahiru said. She grimaced, swinging wildly as she struggled to get her footing. Then, while still holding on, she cried out.

Autor tensed, unsure of whether to take hold of her and assist her in getting up or to let her go it on her own. But before he could determine which was best, Ahiru was dragging herself onto the floor, gasping for breath. She collapsed on her stomach in exhausted relief.

"I thought the ghosts were going to try to stop me from coming up," she said. "They were starting to swirl all around me!"

Autor sighed, admitting his own relief to himself. "You're safe now," he said. "Maybe they just wanted to frighten you."

Without warning the trapdoor slammed down, becoming just as any other tile in the floor. Both teenagers jumped a mile. When the sound of the latch being replaced followed the noise, Autor frowned.

"They're sending us a Keep Out message," he said. "Though I wonder whether that was for sure the ghosts or one of the human occupants of the tunnels."

"What are we going to do now?" Ahiru wondered, pulling herself into a kneeling position. She would really rather forget all of this and go home. But what about Fakir? What if the ghosts really did know some secret that was keeping him unconscious?

Before Autor could answer, another voice echoed through the room. "Who's here?"

Ahiru went pale. "Now what?" she hissed.

Autor got to his feet, recognizing the voice as belonging to Lysander. Since the sculpture and the music divisions shared the yellow building, the two had encountered each other at times in the halls. They were certainly not close; Autor did not consider them friends in the least and he was positive Lysander was of the same mind. And who knew what Lysander would think of finding him in here now, after all the rumors circulating through the school.

"Say nothing of the trapdoor," he said to Ahiru as she stood as well. "We'll pretend we've been upstairs."

Keeping the flashlight pointed away from him, he headed towards the door. "I apologize for the intrusion," he said smoothly. "We were unable to keep track of time, as it seems you were as well."

Ahiru nodded firmly. "Yeah," she said. "I'm so sorry! We were upstairs and I saw the clock and I couldn't believe how late it was. So we were just coming down and went in the wrong room. . . ." She gave a sheepish laugh.

Lysander, who had fallen asleep in the room while working on a project, blinked in confusion. "Aren't you in the ballet division?" he asked. He was sure he placed the cheery young voice as belonging to a friend of Hermia's.

Ahiru froze. "Um, uh, well . . ."

Autor pulled open the door, allowing the dim light in the hallway to spill into the room. "I was giving her a lesson in music," he said, not skipping a beat.

Relieved, Ahiru quickly nodded to confirm the story. "Yeah, that's it!" she said. "Music."

Lysander stared after them as they stepped into the corridor. He was still half-asleep, but aware enough to now remember seeing the girl around the music student frequently. They were the ones to whom the latest rumors pertained, weren't they?

He frowned. There was nothing to discount their story, especially since he had been asleep and could not say whether a piano had been in use upstairs. Yet it still seemed odd that they were at the school so late, especially when their friend was hurt. Then again, maybe the music lesson had been to try to get their minds on something else because they were worrying so much.

Shaking his head, he turned on the lamp and looked back to his sketches on the desk. It really was not his business.

xxxx

"Do you think he believed us?" Ahiru whispered when they were safely out of earshot. She leaned close to Autor to speak, not wanting to take any chances on being overheard anyway.

"It's hard to say," Autor frowned. "But it could have been worse; he isn't the type to pass along gossip, and if he tells his girlfriend, she isn't, either."

Ahiru nodded. "Hermia's really nice," she said. "She wouldn't be like that." Biting her lip, she looked out at the moonlit night through the windows up and down the corridor. "But what now? Are we going to go back to the library and into the tunnels again?"

Autor sighed. "I don't know," he said. "This development surprised me; of all things, I wasn't expecting to discover that one of the tunnels led here." He fell silent, considering their options.

"I think I should take you home," he said at last. "Charon will be concerned about you. And we could see if there's been any change in Fakir's condition."

"Yeah," Ahiru said slowly. But she stopped and walked around to be in front of Autor, her hands on her hips. "If we do that, though, you'd better promise that you won't come back here by yourself!" she cried.

Autor rocked back, then smirked. "I should have known you'd say that," he said. "Don't worry. After what we saw tonight, I want to look into some other things before going into the tunnels again."

Ahiru blinked. "Like what?" she wondered.

"The jewels," Autor said. "I want to find out if there have been any jewel thefts in this general area. Unfortunately, that information might not be much help. The gems could have been stolen from anywhere."

"I hope they weren't stolen at all," Ahiru mumbled.

"It's possible," Autor relented. "But considering the circumstances, it's likely they were."

As they slipped out of the door and into the moonlight, he gave her a sideways glance. "Maybe we should go back to my house before I take you home," he said.

"Why?" Ahiru asked.

"You look a bit disheveled," Autor said. "The last thing we want is for Charon to think I haven't taken good care of you."

Ahiru blushed. "Oh. Yeah." She nodded, brushing some loose strands of hair out of her eyes. "Okay."

And she smiled faintly. With Autor, as with Fakir, she felt safe.

She just wished she could do more for them.


	4. Gossip

**Notes: This chapter has certainly been stubborn in getting written. And I've been having the most dreadful time figuring out how to portray Piké in this situation. I don't particularly like her, but I want her to be in character.**

**Chapter Four**

Charon gave a sad sigh as he looked down at his adopted son. Fakir had not so much as moved one bit since he had been laid in his bed. Save for his steady breathing, he might be mistaken for dead.

Yet he was clearly alive. And the doctors had not been able to find anything wrong with him other than a minor bump on his head. Why had he not awakened? Why could the physicians not even wake him? It was a deeply troubling and worrying issue.

The waiting was agonizing. Charon knew he needed to sleep, but he could not bring himself to move. He would have to get up every thirty minutes anyway, as per the doctors' instructions. And if he lay down he would likely never doze off, but instead lay in bed in despair, wondering what was wrong with the boy and how to correct it.

He looked up with a start when the door opened downstairs. Was Ahiru back at last? He had found it strange anyway when she had insisted she needed to leave for a while. But when he had questioned her, she had expressed worry for Autor. The feelings had been laid bare in her eyes, so he had agreed.

What continued to nag at him was, Would Autor really feel so terrible that Ahiru would need to stay with him this long? Autor could be so stiff and aloof. And he was very considerate of Ahiru. He would not want her to worry about him. He would not show his distress to her if he could help it.

"Charon? How's Fakir?"

He turned to the doorway. Ahiru was standing there, wringing her hands. The worry and sorrow glistened in her eyes. She could clearly see that Fakir was not better, yet she still hoped maybe now he was only sleeping.

"He hasn't woke up," Charon said.

Then his eyes widened. Ahiru was not alone; Autor had suddenly appeared behind her.

"I'm sorry it's so late," Autor said, looking to him.

"That's alright," Charon said. The suspicious "but" in his tone lingered in the air.

Ahiru pretended not to notice. She hurried to Fakir's side and sank into the chair by the bed. "I'm back, Fakir," she said softly, laying her hand over his. "Do you know I'm here at all?" She was unable to keep the sadness out of her voice.

Autor sighed, pushing up his glasses. There was nothing he could do here. The situation had not changed at all.

"I should go," he said. He did not feel comfortable trying to speak to Fakir when he was unconscious—especially not when he would have an audience. He would rather hurry home and see if he could do any research that might help Fakir more in the long-run.

Charon nodded. "Thank you for bringing Ahiru back," he said.

Ahiru looked up. "Yeah," she agreed. "I'll see you tomorrow, Autor. Okay?"

He nodded as well. "I'll come by before school," he said as he turned away. "Goodnight."

Charon sighed as he watched Autor vanish from sight. Autor was an unusual boy, generally aloof and serious—though he was capable of becoming excited and enthused over his theories and research. Charon had never interacted with him a great deal, but due to his friendships with the ones Charon looked after as a legal guardian it was inevitable that their paths would cross sometimes.

Autor had been an orphan for years now, and had struggled to manage his family's estate for years before that. He, not unlike Fakir, had been forced to grow up much too fast.

Charon was fond of him, he supposed, as he was fond of the other teens he had observed for so long. Autor always tried to present himself as strong and unbreakable around Charon—and most everyone else—but it was those who tried so hard to keep themselves distant who were often among the number with the kindest hearts. Charon had seen evidence of that in Autor's past actions, and even in the way the boy looked at Ahiru, but Autor himself would likely, staunchly deny it in favor of his logic and numbers.

Or he would have in the past. Charon had watched Autor gradually open up to the others, as he had also watched Fakir and Ahiru grow closer to him. Perhaps, though Autor was still insistent on being practical, he was no longer denying that at least some of his actions were fueled by his love for his friends.

"Were you able to help him?" he spoke, glancing to Ahiru.

The girl flushed, staring down at Fakir's still form. "Well, I . . . I guess I wasn't really able to do that much," she said. "But I tried my best."

"He seemed to be alright just now," Charon noted.

"Of course he'd come off that way!" Ahiru said hurriedly. "You know how he is. I mean . . ."

Charon fixed her with a firm stare. "Yes, I do," he said. "And I know he would try to get you to come back to Fakir before all this time went by.

"What were you really doing tonight?"

Ahiru went rigid. "I really was telling the truth!" she blurted. "I was worried about Autor, so I went to see him. And then I was trying to help him and . . ."

"But you weren't trying to help him feel better," Charon said. "You were off on some wild adventure, weren't you."

"It's not like that!" Ahiru exclaimed. She looked to her foster father in desperation. "We're both so worried about Fakir and we're trying to figure out what could be wrong with him and how to help him wake up!"

Charon frowned, searching her pleading blue eyes. She did not want to be questioned further. If she was, she knew she would end up telling the rest of the story, the part that she and Autor were trying to keep secret.

And part of him wanted to demand to know those answers, to forbid her from doing anything else dangerous. He did not want to look up in another day or two and see Autor carrying her limp body up the stairs, or worse—to be told that both of them had been found dead Heaven knew where.

Even though Ahiru and Fakir and Autor had risked their lives more than once to save Kinkan, and essentially, the world by extension, they were still mere teenagers. More to the point, they were Charon's children. Well, Autor was not, but Charon still felt some sort of paternal concern for him. He could not bear the thought of anything more happening to bring harm to any of them. They had suffered enough.

At last he sighed in resignation. "Do as you feel you must," he said.

Ahiru smiled, relieved. "Thank you, Charon," she said.

"But please be careful," Charon implored. "Fakir being hurt is far too much."

Ahiru sobered, looking down at Fakir's motionless form. "I know," she said, her voice cracking. "I really know."

xxxx

Ahiru kept vigil over Fakir before at last falling asleep in the chair and slumping against the bed's headboard. Charon then carried her back to her room without her waking up. She slept peacefully through the night until a knock on the door started her awake.

"Ahiru?" came Charon's voice. "Autor is here."

"Eh?" Ahiru exclaimed, sitting straight up in bed. "It's that late already?" She flew off the mattress, unaware that the quilt had wrapped around her ankle. In the next moment she slammed on the floor with a pained cry.

Charon winced. "He's in with Fakir," he said. "Are you alright?"

Ahiru sprang up again, not even hearing the question. "Is Fakir awake?" she demanded.

"No," Charon said. Deciding she was probably not too much the worse for wear after the spill he added, "If you feel able to go to school, you should hurry."

Down the hall, Autor cringed as he heard Ahiru run out of her room and to the bathroom, hitting the door in the process.

"She's her usual self," he commented aloud.

He sighed, looking back to Fakir. "You've gotten yourself into quite a predicament," he said matter-of-factly. "I can't find anything, in all of my books, that will help you."

It was tempting to stay home, away from the googly eyes and gossiping whispers, and keep searching. The only progress he had made was finding several news articles about nearby jewel thefts. Some of the purloined gems looked strikingly similar to the ones he had seen in the bag. He wanted to see what else he could find.

But playing hooky would only make him look guiltier in the other students' eyes. And the last thing he needed was more trouble. Anyway, the library had a bigger selection than he did. He might have more success looking through books and microfilm there.

"I'm not giving up," he said now, "but it would make things so much easier if you could come to on your own. Then again, you never have been one for making things easy, have you?"

If Fakir was capable of responding, he probably would have grunted and given Autor a deadpan look. As it was, he remained silent and motionless.

A skidding sound brought Autor's attention sharply upright. Ahiru had stumbled to the doorway, nearly falling over but catching herself in time—which caused her to slam hard into the wooden door.

"I'm ready!" she exclaimed. But, sobering, she added, "There hasn't been any change, has there?"

Autor shook his head. "Nothing," he said.

Ahiru stared forlornly at Fakir. "What are we going to do?" she whispered.

"I don't know," Autor admitted. "I haven't had much success." He stood. "However, we should talk on the way if we're planning to go."

Ahiru glanced at the clock. "Yeah, I guess so," she said. Sheepishly she rubbed the back of her head. "Actually, leaving now would be early for me."

"I suspected as much," Autor said.

Ahiru scurried over to the bed. "Fakir? I'm so sorry, we have to go now to get to school," she said. "I really don't want to go, but . . ." She trailed off, her voice catching in her throat. "I guess maybe I should."

"You don't have to go," Autor said, not unkindly. "If it's too much for you right now, don't worry about it."

"I want to go!" Ahiru broke in, clenching her fists. "Maybe we can learn something about helping Fakir. There has to be something somewhere!"

She sighed. "But if it wasn't for that, I guess I really wouldn't want to go," she said. "I know I'm going to be spacing even more than usual in all my classes. And . . . I don't know, I guess it's silly, but . . ." She looked down, wringing her hands. "I wonder if Fakir somehow knows I haven't been around too much but he doesn't understand why and he feels hurt."

Autor regarded her in surprise. "If he's able to understand enough to know you haven't been around as much as you would like, he should have some semblance of realization that you're trying to determine how to help him," he said.

"Yeah, I guess." But she frowned. "What if he doesn't, though? I mean, being so hurt and everything maybe makes it hard to think straight."

"Sometimes your trains of thought amaze me," Autor commented. He walked past, pushing up his glasses.

Ahiru looked after him, her brow furrowed. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" she wondered.

"You could interpret it either way," Autor said over his shoulder. Once he was in the hall, he half-turned back. "You come up with some of the strangest ramblings I have ever heard. But then you counter them with deep insights."

Ahiru had been glowering at him, but she blinked and straightened at his last words. "Really?" she said. "So that's good then."

"Yes," Autor relented.

Ahiru smiled. Looking back to Fakir she said, "Fakir, I'm going now because I want to help Autor figure out how to help you wake up. I hope you know that, if you know we're here. . . ." Her voice dropped with the latter part of her sentence. "I'll try to be back as soon as I can, okay? And if you can wake up in the meantime, that would be really great!"

She hesitated, then gently touched his shoulder before turning and hurrying to where Autor was waiting in the hall. "Let's go," she said. "Maybe I can help you by looking up things in the library instead of going to class. At least the really boring ones."

"That will only give you worse marks," Autor said as they headed down the stairs. "You have enough strikes against you as it is."

Ahiru let out a big sigh. "You're right," she mumbled. "But then, what can I do to help?"

"Come to the library during your study period," Autor said.

Ahiru perked up. "I can do that!" she said. "And I could skip lunch too!"

As if on cue, her stomach rumbled in complaint. Her cheeks went red in her embarrassment.

"Come to think of it, you haven't had breakfast," Autor realized. "I doubt Charon will be satisfied with that."

"You probably go without food a lot," Ahiru said.

"That doesn't mean I would recommend it for you," Autor said.

And Charon was certainly not about to let Ahiru leave the house without eating something. When they arrived downstairs, he was arranging bread and butter and assorted fruit on the table.

Ahiru's eyes lit up. "This looks great!" she exclaimed. Hurrying to the table, she grabbed a plate and began loading it with strawberries.

Both Charon and Autor were amused. "Take all that you want," Charon said. Looking to Autor he said, "You're welcome to eat with us."

"Thank you," Autor said, "but I had something to eat before I came." Nevertheless, he sat at the table with them, and before the meal was over he had enjoyed some of the fruit and a slice of bread.

"It's nice that you're walking with Ahiru to school today," Charon said.

Uncomfortable, Autor pushed up his glasses. "I knew she would be lonely," he said, glancing at Ahiru as he spoke.

"Friends walk places together," Ahiru chirped as she finished off the food on her plate.

"Yes, I suppose that's true," Autor said.

He leaned back, pondering. Ahiru was still deeply worried about Fakir, but her happiness over Autor's presence was very much genuine. It was a nice feeling, one he had only rarely experienced before he had met her. He had lost faith in friendship, but she had restored it and increased it. And he had to admit that it was much more pleasant than being bitter and sneering at the very thought of platonic relations.

Ahiru hopped up. "I'm done!" she announced. "Thank you, Charon! I guess we'd better hurry and go."

Autor and Charon stood as well. "Thank you," Autor agreed. "You've been very hospitable." He crossed to the door and Ahiru scampered after him.

Charon watched in a bit of amusement. "Will you be coming back right after school ends?" he asked.

Ahiru stiffened. "Well, uh . . . I'll probably have to clean," she mumbled. "And Autor and me are still trying to figure out how to help Fakir."

Autor frowned, giving her a strange look. How much had she told?

Charon merely let out a heavy sigh. "I wish you could," he said. "I'm at a loss."

Autor nodded. "So are we," he said as he ushered Ahiru outside and then followed. As he reached to pull the door shut he said, "I'll try to bring Ahiru home before it's late."

Ahiru watched him, then waved to Charon and started off down the street. She could sense Autor catching up with her a moment later, though she did not turn to look.

"That's pretty much all I told him," she said. "I feel bad keeping things from Charon." She frowned. "He's been so good to us. And of course he's just worried."

"What did he say?" Autor asked.

"He said we should 'do what we must,'" Ahiru said. "But he hoped we weren't going to get into anything dangerous."

"It would be better if we didn't," Autor said. "Although with malevolent spirits it's probably inevitable."

Ahiru sighed. "Probably," she said.

Then she perked up. "What about your powers?" she suggested. "Maybe you could compose Fakir waking up!"

Autor stiffened. "Maybe," he said. "But when there are other forces at work that we don't understand, I might only make it worse. In the past, when I tried to restore Fakir's memories, I at least knew something about the enemy beforehand. Although it wasn't much," he added in a lower voice.

Ahiru looked down. "And you almost died too," she said. "Maybe we'd better keep trying other things first."

Autor nodded. "If it turns out that there is no other way, however, then I'll consider it," he said.

Ahiru sighed. "I wish there would be another way, that wouldn't put you in danger too," she said. "I'm so tired of everyone being in trouble. I'm afraid that one of these days we . . . we won't all come out of it." She swallowed the lump in her throat, but it returned.

"That's possible," Autor said, feeling uncomfortable again.

"We just can't be okay every time." Ahiru blinked away the forming tears. "I just hope now isn't going to be that time. I'm not ready for it at all." She looked up at Autor. "Or . . . can you never really be ready?" she said softly.

"You can believe you are," Autor said. "Maybe sometimes you actually are. But if you aren't, and you've made yourself believe opposite to that, it will only be worse for you when you realize the truth."

"I guess so," Ahiru said. She bit her lip. Was that what had happened to Autor when his parents had died? Part of her wanted to ask, but it was such a sensitive subject. She did not want to pry. And Autor was not offering anything further, so she determined to stay quiet.

The academy was dawning before she was really ready for it, either. She stared up at the large blue-gray building, clutching her books to her chest. What would happen when they went inside? Would the students be gossiping and saying mean things again? And what if Lysander had ended up telling others about them being in the music building last night after all?

"When we walk through the gate together, it's going to look worse for us."

She stiffened at Autor's words. "I know," she mumbled. Straightening up and trying to smile, she said, "I'm ready."

Autor allowed a slight smile. "Alright then."

They passed through the gate and up the stairs to the main building. As they walked beyond the paneled glass doors, the students mingling inside gasped and began to whisper.

Ahiru gripped her books tighter. "I hate this," she said.

Autor was not particularly fond of it either. And he could only imagine how something so simple would be blown out of proportion within the hour.

"I'll see you in the library later," he said in her ear as they stepped through the back doors and to the courtyard.

"Okay," Ahiru agreed with a nod. "Good luck."

He _hmphed_. "I don't believe in luck."

"I really don't either," Ahiru said.

She came to a halt and watched him turn left to the music building. Then, sighing, she kept on towards the ballet building.

"Ahiru!"

She jumped a mile at the chorusing voices, even though she had expected to hear them. In the next moment she was being mobbed by Piké and Lilie.

"How could you, Ahiru?" Lilie exclaimed, pulling her close in a sudden glomp.

"Deserting the wonderful Fakir like this!" Piké added. "That isn't like you at all!"

"I didn't desert him!" Ahiru cried.

"Some of the students are saying you and the music student planned to make the wonderful Fakir fall!" Lilie said, still hugging her. "Of course, that's not true, is it? _Is it?_ It would be so delightfully tragic if it is!"

Ahiru pulled away. "It's _not_ true!" she retorted. "Autor hasn't done anything wrong! And I don't think I have, either!"

Lilie rocked back, momentarily surprised by the outburst. Piké frowned.

"Maybe we were too harsh," she said. "But it does look bad, Ahiru! Especially showing up here like that, with Autor."

"We're friends!" Ahiru said. "There's nothing wrong with it."

"A boy and a girl can't be just friends!" Lilie exclaimed. She stared happily into the sky, her hands clasped. "They'll start to fall in love with each other! And then there'll be a terrible love triangle. Oh, how wonderful!"

"There's no love triangle!" Ahiru shot back.

"Of course you'd deny it!" Lilie said. "But there's no need to pretend with us, Ahiru! You can tell us everything. We want every little detail!"

Ahiru really wanted to scream by this point. She had been long-suffering with Lilie for ages, until at last her patience had begun to wear thin after Lilie's insensitivity to Autor's death. And now, with the stress of Fakir being hurt and she and Autor being accused of conspiring against him, she could not take any more.

Taking a deep breath, she chose to simply run past. "There aren't any details!" she called over her shoulder. "And I'm going to be late!"

Piké sighed. "We should go too or _we'll_ be late," she said, frowning at Lilie.

"I hope we see the teacher getting angry at Ahiru," Lilie cooed as she hastened towards the ballet building. "Not only will she be late, but she's causing such a stir all over the school. It's so exciting! There hasn't been an incident like this for so long!"

"I think it's awful," Piké retorted as they slipped inside. "And when the wonderful Fakir gets better, he'll come back to all this!"

"I can hardly wait," Lilie said. "Maybe he'll get into a terrible argument with Ahiru! They might even fall to ruin over it!"

Piké had to admit it was a possibility. And as they entered the girls' locker room, it seemed that the great majority of the ballet students thought so as well. The room was abuzz with conversation. But Ahiru was nowhere to be seen.

"Oh? Did she already change and go out?" Lilie wondered.

Piké would not be surprised if she had; Ahiru had always been uncomfortable with gossip in general. And it was even worse when she was the subject of it.

Her expression turned serious as she changed for class. She had never especially liked Autor, when she took notice of him at all, but she knew how much he meant to Ahiru. And she did not like to believe that he had pushed Fakir, though she still did not think Fakir had fallen by himself, either.

And now with the new day, the gossip had increased tenfold. For the most part in the past, Ahiru had been liked around the campus for her cheery, friendly personality. Today it looked like that might change. Piké did not like that possibility at all.

As the students filed into the ballet room, they found Ahiru already there, practicing diligently at the _barre_. Lilie hurried over, with Piké not far behind.

"We were wondering where you disappeared to so fast, Ahiru!" Lilie said. "I thought maybe you were so ashamed by all the gossip that you had to run away!"

"Oh no, it wasn't anything like that," Ahiru said weakly. _How could I be ashamed of it when I know it's not even true?_ she thought to herself.

Lilie leaned in closer. "You and that music student are going to be together later, aren't you?" she said in a stage whisper.

Ahiru stiffened. She could not deny it; they would be seen in the library during study period.

"You are!" Piké exclaimed. "Ahiru, some of the students might start treating you the way they've been treating him!"

"They're seeing each other in secret!" Lilie said. "That's why the wonderful Fakir was pushed. And maybe now they're even planning to run away together! Oh how romantic." She patted Ahiru on the head. "But of course you know it can't last. You and he will both be dragged off to jail for attempted murder and you probably won't get out for years and you'll be old and bitter and . . ."

"_Stop it!"_

The entire room went deathly still. Ahiru was standing up straight, her fists clenched at her sides.

"Autor didn't push Fakir!" she cried. "He's feeling horrible about Fakir falling. And there isn't any conspiracy with him and me! We both really care about Fakir. And Autor and me are friends, even if that's too hard for everyone to believe! There's nothing wrong with us walking together and doing stuff together!"

She looked to Lilie and Piké, struggling to hold back the tears that were threatening to rise to the surface. "And Autor's not 'the music student'! He has a name!"

Lilie just looked stunned by Ahiru's outburst, but a bit of guilt flashed in Piké's eyes. Before either of them could respond, however, the ballet instructor entered the room. Instantly all of the students came to attention.

The stern woman frowned, her sharp gaze traveling over the frozen girls. "Did I hear yelling in here?" she asked.

Ahiru's shoulders slumped. "Yes, Mme. Nolette," she mumbled.

Mme. Nolette frowned. "You, Miss Ahiru?" she said. "Your mind wanders, but you rarely raise your voice."

"I was upset," Ahiru said. "I'm sorry." She stared at the floor.

For a moment there was silence. Then a voice spoke from the other side of the room. "Mme. Nolette, I think Ahiru has a right to be upset."

Once again everyone was surprised, Ahiru most of all. She turned, seeking out her defender. It was the blonde girl from the special class. Her eyes widened. She had not thought anyone in the special class cared what happened with her.

Mme. Nolette seemed to be of the same mind. "Oh?" she said. "And why is that?"

"Because there's a lot of gossip going around the school right now about her and her friend," the girl said.

Now Mme. Nolette frowned. "I see. And of course the gossip was being passed around in here. Is that correct?"

A few students nodded, looking guilty or apprehensive.

"That will not be tolerated," Mme. Nolette said. "Most gossip has no basis in truth. And regardless of whether it does, it's none of our business."

"But Mme. Nolette!" another girl cried. "What if Ahiru and her friend really did have a plan to push the wonderful Fakir?"

"Ridiculous!" Mme. Nolette retorted. "There will not be any more of that sort of talk in this class. Is that understood?"

The students nodded again, though now they looked reluctant.

Ahiru breathed a sigh of relief as Mme. Nolette began to direct the ballerinas in their first warm-ups. Maybe it would not be a long reprieve, but it was something at least. And with her frayed and cracking nerves it was something to be grateful for.

Study period could not come soon enough.


End file.
